


Just a Taste

by falindis



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Eavesdropping, Gothmog is a jock, Modern AU, Multi, Not What It Looks Like, Pervy humor, Ship Tease, Thuri is a nerd, Tolkien Crack Week, Weird family relations, suburban life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: “You’re my boss”, Mairon said finally. “It would be inappropriate.”Melkor scoffed. “Fuck propriety. Let me taste some of that milk.”Mairon invites his boss Melkor over to discuss business. Along comes Melkor's son, Gothmog, who is to keep company to Mairon's teenage daughter. But Gothmog is suspicious - something isdefinitelygoing on with his dad and Mairon.
Relationships: Gothmog (Lord of Balrogs) & Thuringwethil, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	Just a Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tolkien Crack Week 2020.

“I want to go home, dad”, Gothmog whined, leaning against the darkened glass of the black Mercedes he was in. “Why do I have to be here again?”

In the driver’s seat, Melkor lifted his sunglasses and gave Gothmog a sour stare. “It’s because Mairon asked for it. You’re roughly the same age as his daughter. You’re to keep her company while we tend to business.”

Gothmog scoffed. “Since when have you allowed Mairon to push you around? You’re his boss.”

“He’s not pushing me around”, Melkor grunted. “He invited me over, as a gesture of goodwill. Sometimes employees do that.”

“Your employees have never done that before.”

Melkor didn’t say anything. He simply turned the wheel and drove, the large avenues of the city center turning into smaller suburban streets, lined with pristine white houses made out of wood. This was very different to the world Gothmog was used to – he and Melkor lived on top of a high-rise in the very center, with a view all over the sprawling city below. Melkor always said how that view made him feel like he owned the city – which he technically did, considering he led the largest real estate company of the area.

“We’re almost there”, Melkor said, slowing down as a bunch of kids crossed the street chasing after their dog – it was so suburban Gothmog wanted to _puke –_ “try not to look like the air tastes like shit.”

Gothmog sighed. He had no choice but to endure as Melkor pulled onto the driveway of a large, white house like all the others, with a clean-cut lawn and windows that shone like they had been washed that same day. Gothmog only recognized it to be Mairon’s from the red Porsche that waited in the front yard.

Melkor killed the engine and stepped out into the hot summer air. He looked uncomfortable and out of place here, with his raven hair and jet-black suit, under which he was probably sweating like a pig. Gothmog hadn’t been forced to wear something as fancy, but he neither enjoyed the choking grip of his shirt collar around his throat, or the uncomfortable tightness of the sleeves around his biceps.

He was going to need to buy a bigger shirt.

Melkor walked to the door, and as soon as he rung the doorbell, Mairon answered. He was dressed impeccably as always, in a red suit that accentuated his shiny, ginger hair that was pulled in a clean ponytail, without a single strand out of place. He smiled as he greeted his boss, letting Melkor in and then locking eyes with Gothmog.

“Good to see you here too, Goth”, he greeted. “My daughter Thuringwethil is upstairs. She told me that you’re already familiar with each other, going to the same school.”

Gothmog furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t known that Mairon’s daughter went to the same school as him. He was fairly popular – he thought he knew everybody. Perhaps she had just recently transferred over?

“I can take off that jacket, if you want”, Mairon turned to Melkor, leaning over to his boss and allowing Melkor to shrug it over. As he did so Mairon leaned very close, almost close enough to touch Melkor’s neck. Gothmog found the gesture strangely intimate for two colleagues, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s very hot”, Melkor complained. “Don’t you have AC?”

“I like it hot”, Mairon replied with a grin, hanging Melkor’s jacket onto the coat rack. “I can turn it down if you want.”

“Yes”, Melkor agreed. Mairon obeyed, turning down the AC and then returning with two glasses of whiskey on ice, offering one to Melkor and the other to Gothmog.

“A drink?” he asked.

“I’m still a minor”, Gothmog replied, and Mairon lifted a quizzical eyebrow. Apparently Gothmog didn’t play the role of the innocent student very well, considering the jock he was. “But if dad allows it… I can make an exception.”

Melkor just waved his hand – he had never cared too much about his son’s drinking, even allowing him to throw the occasional party at their penthouse when Melkor was out of town.

“Great”, Mairon said, handing Gothmog the glass and the other to Melkor. His free hand then found its way onto Melkor’s back – Gothmog did a double take – almost down to Melkor’s butt – and guided his boss towards the living room.

“Let’s get down to business”, Mairon said. “See you later, Gothmog.”

Gothmog simply grunted. Mairon and Melkor disappeared behind thick, wooden doors, leaving Gothmog alone in the lobby, his glass in hand.

He looked around for a moment. Compared to the dark, leather-and stone décor of his home, this place seemed so _light,_ so clean. A crystal chandelier was hanging in the roof high above his head, and a white spiral staircase led upstairs from the main lobby. The wooden floor was covered in thick, fuzzy carpets that felt soft beneath his feet. It was… _different._

Gothmog took a sip out of his glass and grimaced. _Strong._ Then he turned and walked upstairs.

There were only four sets of doors upstairs – two smaller doors that clearly led to a bathroom or an attic, and two sets of double doors, the other of which were open.

Gothmog went to the doors and peered in. Compared to the whiteness in the hallway this room was surprisingly dark: the walls were painted red and black, and the shade continued into the bedsheets and drapes hanging over the window. A blonde girl sat upon a desk by the window, leaning over and scribbling something onto a piece of paper.

Gothmog cleared his throat loudly.

The girl spun around, and Gothmog almost dropped his glass.

Thuringwethil had a pale, doll-like face, and two dark eyes regarded Gothmog beneath thick eyelashes. She was dressed in all black like the room around her, and the tight fit of her clothes highlighted her skinny figure.

_Oh no. She’s hot._

“Oh”, Thuringwethil said, and her tone sounded almost _disappointed._ “It’s you.”

“Umm”, Gothmog managed. “Yeah. Your dad sent me here. I’m—”

“Gothmog. I know.” Thuringwethil’s eyes went to the glass of whiskey in Gothmog’s hand. “Raided dad’s booze cabinet?”

“Oh no. He gave this to me.”

Thuringwethil rolled her eyes and turned back to whatever she was working on.

Gothmog took a curious step forward. “What are you doing? Homework?”

Thuringwethil said nothing. She simply continued her scribbling.

“So…” Gothmog continued. “Mairon said that we go to the same school. So you know who I am?”

“You’re Gothmog. You play center in the football team. Everyone knows who you are.”

Gothmog nodded. “Yeah… so how come I have never seen you before?”

“You wouldn’t know me.”

“I… thought I knew everybody.”

Thuringwethil let out something that could only be described as a _cackle._ “I’m… what you would call… a _geek._ In case the poetry I’m writing doesn’t give it away.”

Gothmog blinked and looked around the room. With a closer take he indeed noticed that the table was filled with various kinds of writing – poetry, prose, whatever. And not only that – the room was filled with books of all kind, and instead of the naked ladies that plastered Gothmog’s walls, these were _old_ paintings – renaissance or something like that. (And when Gothmog looked closer there were indeed naked ladies here too – but these were _artistic_ depictions, not something taken out of Playboy.)

But the cherry on top was the diploma that hung on the wall by Thuringwethil’s bed, with a red sigil and a loopy script that said:

_HONORARY AWARD_

_TOL-IN-GAURHOTH LITERARY SOCIETY_

Gothmog almost choked. _Thuri?_ One of those nerds?

“You’re kidding, right?”

Thuringwethil scoffed. “Why would I be? Of course you wouldn’t know what we looked like. You barely know that we exist.”

Gothmog didn’t know what to say. He simply stood still, holding his whiskey like an idiot.

Him, the Great Gothmog, struck speechless.

Thuringwethil seemed to be amused by that. “So, you’re Melkor’s son?”

“Y-yeah”, Gothmog stammered. “You’re Mairon’s daughter.”

Thuringwethil shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Kind of? What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not his _real_ daughter, you know. Do we look alike? He just raised me, that’s all.”

Gothmog nodded. So, at least they had something in common. Gothmog, too, was mostly raised by Melkor, who had gotten divorced with his wife, Varda, soon after their son’s birth. Gothmog had blamed himself for it almost his entire life, although as he grew older, he realized that he wasn’t to blame from his parent’s messy break-up.

(It was that type of complicated story that involved your mom falling in love with your dad’s brother, and stuff like that never ended up neatly.)

But he didn’t say any of this to Thuringwethil, since he wasn’t the type of guy who talked about his feelings. Complicated thoughts weren’t something that really came naturally to him.

Or thoughts, in general.

“So…” he finally managed, “how did that happen?”

“You wouldn’t want to hear about it. Besides, wouldn’t that be weird, considering we just met?”

Gothmog cleared his throat. “Well… I guess.”

Thuringwethil laughed. “You should see your expression, honestly. You don’t have to take me so seriously, you know. It’s not that big of a deal. Mairon adopted me when I was young.”

“All by himself?”

“…yeah? My dad doesn’t have time for relationships. He’s practically married to his job. Besides, I don’t think he’s interested in women.”

Suddenly Gothmog thought back to the strange… _intimacy_ he had witnessed between his dad and Mairon downstairs, and a lump formed in his throat. “What do you mean with that?”

“Gosh. Have you _seen_ my dad? He screams gay all the way to the moon.”

Gothmog swallowed. He desperately needed a drink – he chugged down his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. His dad and Mairon… _what were they doing down there?_

He needed to know. Now.

“Hey”, Thuringwethil said, noticing how Gothmog had turned to the door. “Where are you going?”

“To check up on dad.”

Thuringwethil’s hand darted out, grabbing Gothmog’s forearm. She was surprisingly strong for a girl her size – it almost hurt. “No. You can’t. Dad’s said to never interrupt him in the middle of business.”

“B-business?” Gothmog repeated, feeling faint in the head. “His and dad’s… _business.”_

Something sparked in Thuringwethil’s eyes, and she tightened her grip on Gothmog. “No. You’re not to go down there. Besides, why does the thought bother you that much? What’s wrong with a little _intimacy?”_

Gothmog shivered. The way Thuringwethil said the word really made it seem more desirable than it was. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Gothmog was, once again, caught speechless, with a strange, warm feeling burning in his gut.

“I’m going, and you’re coming with me”, he said.

“Hey!” Thuringwethil protested as Gothmog grabbed her elbow and lifted her from her chair, “what the hell, dude?”

Gothmog grunted as a response – usually he had no trouble carrying women around, but Thuringwethil was a different case. Gothmog felt like he was in a football match, panting and clenching his teeth and sweating like crazy.

When they finally got downstairs, Thuringwethil managed to wrench free and slapped Gothmog clean across the face. Gothmog recoiled, stunned, not really understanding what had just happened.

“You… you hit me.”

“You just _dragged me down the stairs.”_

Gothmog caressed his cheek. It stung. Normally he would have been angry, but that was not the case this time.

He was aroused as fuck.

“I’m going back up”, Thuringwethil said.

Gothmog’s hand darted back to catch her. “Wait! I can hear something.”

Both were quiet for a moment. As they did so they could hear sounds coming from behind the double doors – a voice that both recognized as Mairon.

“No”, he said, almost shocked. “You can’t be suggesting that we—”

“I can, and I will”, Melkor replied, and his tone left no room for suggestion. “It’s about time that we do it.”

There was a scandalous silence.

“You’re my boss”, Mairon said finally. “It would be inappropriate.”

Melkor scoffed. “Fuck propriety. Now, show me how it’s done.”

Gothmog’s jaw fell open. A strange sound, half shriek and gasp escaped his mouth, but he never managed to say more, before Thuringwethil’s hands shot out and covered his mouth.

“Quiet”, Thuringwethil hissed, so close to Gothmog’s ear that he could feel her breath on his neck, “don’t say anything.”

Gothmog wasn’t going to. He was frozen in place, his heart beating like a drum under his chest.

Behind the doors the voices had resumed talking.

“Mmmh”, Melkor murmured, almost sensually, “let me taste some of that milk.”

“Not yet”, Mairon growled. “You’ll have to wait.”

“You tease.”

“That’s how you like it.”

There was a strange, metallic sound, almost like the click of a belt buckle, soon followed with the distinct sound of a zipper opening. Gothmog’s heart was pounding faster. Thuringwethil’s hands still hadn’t left his mouth.

“We’ll start with the basics”, Mairon continued. “Could you pass me the oil—”

“Whoops!”

Mairon moaned. “Look at what you did! I’m all slick now!”

Melkor simply laughed. “Deal with it.”

“We’ve barely even started, and you’ve already made a mess. Now, put it in care—”

There was a wet, sloshing noise.

Mairon grunted. “Carefully, I said. Ah… please go slower…”

“Hah! It’s in, get on with it.”

The wet sloshing resumed, now almost resembling a flapping sound. It continued for a while, until Melkor interrupted Mairon:

“Why did you stop?”

“My hand got tired”, Mairon said. “You do it now.”

The sound continued, and Mairon groaned in approval.

“Whip it, oh, just like that, harder!”

Gothmog felt like he was going to faint. (Which, considering how hard Thuri was gripping his mouth, might have actually been a legit option. That lady was _strong.)_

“Yes!” Mairon yelled. “That’s it. Now, fill me up.”

Melkor murmured and obeyed. There was a lot of grunting. And heavy breathing.

“So… full...” Mairon gasped, catching his breath.

“Aahh”, Melkor said. “Can I lick it?”

“Yes. Just leave some for me too.”

 _Slurp._ “Mmh… so tasty…”

The voices continued for a bit, until Gothmog decided he had heard enough. He wrenched Thuringwethil’s hands from his mouth and pointed towards the door, hissing.

“You heard that, didn’t you?”

Thuringwethil rolled her eyes. “Of course I did. I’m not deaf.”

Gothmog needed to catch his breath. His chest felt like it was going to explode. “Oh god. This can’t be happening. My dad and your dad—god, no.”

“Gothmog—”

“No. What if they’re kissing, no, what if they’re— _no,_ this can’t be happening. It’s too weird. I can’t stand it. Like if they got married we’d be siblings…”

Thuringwethil sighed. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Besides, they’re probably just f—”

Suddenly the doors opened, and Mairon’s head peeked out of the frame. Behind him there was the view to the kitchen, where Melkor, dressed in an apron and a chef’s hat, was holding a plate of food – which also happened to be on fire.

 _“Flambéing!”_ Thuringwethil cried out, pointing at the flaming dish. “You’re cooking together!”

“Yes”, Mairon said, narrowing his eyes. “We’re making _Crêpes Suzette._ Gothmog, is everything fine? You look a bit pale.”

Gothmog let out a stammering cough. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good”, Mairon smiled. “You’re welcome to come and try. They’re made with love.”

That made Gothmog choke up just a little.

He and Thuringwethil followed Melkor and Mairon to the kitchen, where they sat down. And ate crêpes. Just like a regular family would.

(Gothmog of course noticed how Mairon was stroking Melkor beneath the table, but he pretended not to mind. He tried to think of something distracting. Like naked ladies. But he ended up just imagining how Thuringwethil’s hand would feel on his thigh.)

“Should we do that too?” Gothmog whispered to Thuringwethil, low enough for no-one else to hear.

Thuringwethil showed her tongue. “In your dreams, Jockmog.”

Gothmog fought poorly to conceal the rush of heat in his cheeks.

God, she was hot.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my pals on Discord for the idea of "flambéing" !!!


End file.
